


Floored

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, Humor, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An erotic dream forces Blair to re-examine his feelings toward Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floored

## Floored

by Chaomath

Disclaimers. The elusive Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison appeared in my mind one day and just wouldn't let go until I wrote something. Needless to say, I don't own these characters - the lucky people at Pet Fly Productions do. They are simply being borrowed without permission but no infringement is intended. I'm not making a dime off of this (and neither should you, dear reader). However, I hold the copyright on the words that follow. 

Warnings. OK, this bit of slash features some light graphic descriptions of m/m sex. If the thought of this offends you, there are plenty of other things to read in the world. Go find some. Current US law seems to indicate that people under the age of 18 shouldn't be allowed to read this. I may not agree with this sentiment, but you've been adequately warned so I've done my duty. 

Author's Notes. This is a light (and hopefully humorous) little J/B story. Not a lot of sex but a fair amount of UST. It is also my first ever bit of fanfic - well, at least, it is the first bit I've ever allowed anyone else to read. So, I welcome _all_ comments. Try to be kind, though. Constructive criticism is welcomed - but outright flames will simply be mocked until I get bored. 

I must thank my faithful beta readers: callisto, Myrna, charle, Terry, and especially Charly, for her detailed comments. All spelling/grammar mistakes are my own fault - sometimes I just refuse to do things the "right" way. Oh, and a special thanks for callisto for the title. The biggest thanks go to Charly (again) for her tireless help with the ending. We kicked around a lot of ideas, but what finally emerged is mainly due to her. Of course, if you hate it, you should blame me, not her. I made the final decisions and so should take all the blame. 

And kudos to Bette, whose "Wet Dream" series sparked my tiny little mind. Thanks for yanking my chain - and thanks for telling me to write this story myself. Where would we be without the gentle nudging of such great authors? 

I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. 

* * *

Floored  
by Chaomath   
copyright 1997 

It all started innocently enough. They were in the kitchen making dinner. True, Jim wasn't wearing a shirt but that wasn't entirely unknown. At times, he seemed unaware of what he was (or wasn't) wearing. Being in the military must've gotten him used to a lack of privacy. 

So, cooking. Harmless enough. It was the way they ended most days. Jim hovered over Blair, criticizing occasionally but taking orders without much argument. Suddenly, the heady scent of the garlic Blair had just added to the roux turned into the unmistakable smell of _Jim_ and he was no longer interested in cooking. He spun around to face Jim and found himself running his fingers over Jim's broad chest. The feel was incredible - at once both familiar and alien. Passion loomed up in him and he raised his head to look into Jim's eyes. He saw his passion mirrored there and strong arms encircled him, bringing their bodies tightly together. 

It was heavenly. The warmth, the solidity, the scent of arousal - all promised things to come. Blair's head spun and the next time he stopped to take a breath, he found he was kneeling on the kitchen floor, kissing Jim completely. His hands slid down Jim's back and under the waistband of his jeans. That touch, that forbidden touch, sparked the desire for more contact. Blair pulled their bodies apart to unbutton and pull down Jim's jeans, and when they moved together again it was skin on skin. 

[What happened to my clothes?] Blair dimly wondered. But then Jim was pulling Blair down on top of him, and there was no room for questions. 

Blair's entire world narrowed to the feelings spreading out from his core. A burning intensity filled him as he felt Jim's erection rub against his. He couldn't stop moving, hands roaming, lips tasting - it would never be enough. He felt Jim's hands on his backside, urging him on and on and on...until he felt he couldn't bear the escalating pressure any longer. He surged over the final barrier and into oblivion... 

* * *

Blair woke with a startled gasp and tried to catch his breath. He rolled over in the gloom and squinted at the clock. 

[6:00] he thought. [Unbelievable.] 

He rolled back to his stomach, wincing at the wet, squishy feeling. 

[Incredible dream] he mused. [But do they always have to be so messy?] 

He wrinkled his nose in annoyance and shifted around, trying to find a comfortable, dry spot. [Whoa. Incredible dream? Where did that come from?! I was dreaming about _Jim_ , for God's sake.] 

Blair sighed. It was far too early to be considering such complicated matters. [Better to sleep now and deal with it later. Sleep, definitely more sleep...] 

* * *

After what seemed like only a few minutes, Blair woke again. This time the clock said it was definitely time to get up - especially if he wanted hot water for his shower. He stood up and stretched. The damp feeling at his crotch made him amend that idea. [Maybe a cold shower is called for this morning.] 

Rubbing at his eyes, he walked blindly to the bathroom and automatically began his morning routine. He began to feel more awake when he felt the hot water wash over him. Jim's voice echoed in his mind - gotta keep the mildew level down in the bathroom, Chief, or you'll pull bathroom detail every week - as he cracked the window open and felt the cool air slide down his body. [A very sensual experience] he thought, [the yin and yang of heat and cold. Geez, Sandburg, you're in a poetic mood today.] 

As his soapy hands slid over his chest, his mind played back the beginning of his dream. Stroking the hard flesh, feeling the nipples harden, rubbing the patch of hair in the center of his chest - [well, that isn't Jim, now is it? He's naked as a jaybird when it comes to chest hair.] 

[Yikes!] Blair thought. [I'm doing it again.] 

He quickly dialed the hot water down and the cold water up. [Just gotta get back to reality, here. No fantasizing about a certain male best friend. Especially when the friend could be a poster-boy for straight America.] 

The cold water may have stilled his body's reactions, but it did nothing to stop his mind. As he quickly focused on getting out of the cold shower, Blair switched to anthropologist mode and began to analyze. 

[OK, I had a wet dream about a guy (man, that sounds _so_ adolescent - but it definitely sounds better than the medical equivalent, "nocturnal emission"). Not just any guy, but a guy I know well. A guy I _live_ with. (Don't go there.) So, well, that is normal, isn't it? It's certainly normal to have the occasional erotic twinge about a member of the same sex. Or so all the books say. And I must have done this before, right? Not that it means that I am gay, or anything like that. Nope, just part of the normal male libido. Hormones or something. Yes, that's it. Just a normal occurrence. Doesn't mean I am _really_ attracted to Jim, and it certainly doesn't mean that I am gay.] 

[Not that there's anything _wrong_ with being gay.] 

[Great. Now I sound like that Seinfeld episode.] 

He shut off the water (whew!), and began to dry off. 

[But seriously, I know I'm not gay. Or bi, even. Sure there were those "experiments" with Dan back in high school. Dan. Haven't thought about him in years.] He was a best friend when Blair had given up hope of ever having a best friend. Constantly moving around meant getting used to leaving just when you started to connect with people. 

[Yeah, Dan was possibly my first best friend.] Dan, with his shoulder-length hair (Blair's had been short, then) and laughing green eyes. There was no lead-time with Dan, no awkward getting-to-know-you period. They were friends as soon as they met. [Sandburg, you're getting way off track here.] 

He wrapped the towel around his waist and scowled at himself in the mirror as he began to lather his face. 

[OK, so the "experiments" with Dan (gotta keep those quotes intact) also fell into the "entirely normal for a confirmed heterosexual" range as well. Masters and Johnson said so - much as uptight bastards like Jesse Helms would like to ignore. Just adolescent playing around; testing the equipment, so to speak. Nothing too serious - heck, we didn't even have the courage to kiss at first. Just the old circle jerk (even though it wasn't much of a circle with just two people).] But, he remembered, they did, eventually, kiss. And it had been wonderful - intimate and scary. Like a shared secret. 

They hadn't done it often - maybe saving it for special occasions, like when they went on that first double-date to the county fair. It had been an evening of 4-H projects and carnival rides shared with Shelley (Dan's) and Beth (Blair's). When the date was officially over, he and Dan had gone back out to the cornfields to discuss the evening, laughing and planning their next outing. That evening had ended with a few sweet kisses shared under the starlight. 

Beth and Shelley had become a regular thing. [Come to think of it, did Shelley and Beth ever realize that the evening didn't always end when they were returned to their homes? That we'd sometimes park Dan's car at the end of Miller Street where the houses were far back from the road and sneak off into the woods to be alone and talk about life?] 

Blair snorted with derision. [Who am I kidding? We went back there to fool around. Sure, we talked a lot as well, and it was a relief to get away from the other kids, but it was primarily driven by adolescent lust.] 

Blair wondered where Dan was now. It had been almost impossible to leave him when Naomi had felt the wanderlust again. She wanted to drag him away before Dan and he got to share a single summer together. They had made so many plans during the school year that it seemed unfair to leave them all behind. 

He and Naomi had nearly come to blows; it was Blair's first big act of rebellion and neither was prepared. Naomi had been both thrilled and terrified at Blair's first signs of independence. For so long, it had been just the two of them. She accused him of wanting to stay solely because he'd thought he was in love with Beth. He'd denied it vehemently, but that only left him without a compelling reason to stay. He couldn't bring himself to explain the way he felt about Dan. It was as if it had been too important, too private to be laid out in front of his mother. He had tried to persuade her to let him stay on his own, but she hadn't relented. He loved Naomi, and she was his mother, and in the end, that was all that mattered. He had left Dan behind and spent a miserable summer crying into his pillow every night, convinced that he would never find a friend like Dan again. 

And he kept that belief until he found Jim. 

[Good lord, we're back to Jim again. Well, Jim is _nothing_ like Dan so that ends it. The perverted little fantasies my mind comes up with when I'm not looking don't mean a thing.] Blair readjusted the towel around his waist [no, that is _not_ the beginning of an erection] and went to get dressed. 

He was in the kitchen considering breakfast when Jim finally woke. By the time the coffee was well on its way, Jim had finished his shower and had wandered out to get the morning newspaper. Blair kept his back turned and studied the coffee maker. Drip, drip, drip... 

"Hey Chief, thanks for leaving me some hot water," Jim said. 

Blair had to turn around. "No problem." [Good lord! Why doesn't Jim ever get dressed right away?] That damn towel left nothing to the imagination [we need to get some thicker towels] and was perched _way_ too low. On top of that, Jim had missed a spot right in the center of his chest, and the water droplets gleamed in the morning sunlight. 

Thankfully, Jim was studying the front page of the paper and didn't notice Blair's stare, nor his quick pivot toward the fridge as soon as he realized he was staring. 

[Breakfast, what to eat for breakfast.] Blair tried to focus. 

"Take a look at this," Jim said. "There's an article about some exhibit at the University. Says it's controversial." Jim shoved the paper in Blair's direction. 

Blair turned to look at Jim and reached to take the paper. As he did so, the towel started heading for the floor. Jim deftly caught it before it got very far and couldn't help laughing at Blair's shocked look. 

"Whoops, sorry, Chief. Almost flashed ya there." Jim tucked the towel more securely around his waist and pushed past Blair to get mugs for the coffee. 

"Er, yeah, Jim. Try to keep it under control," was Blair's response as he ducked his head, trying to hide his blush. [Like you could hide _anything_ from a Sentinel.] 

"Blushing, Sandburg? I would have thought a free-spirit like you would have had plenty of exposure to this kind of thing," Jim teased as he searched for his favorite mug. 

[Exposure!?] Blair's mind squeaked. [Lord help me if I start snickering. It's either that or continue blushing...] 

Instead he replied, "Well, Jim, without the benefit of your extensive military background I guess this thing comes kinda hard to me." [Ouch! I can't believe I just used those words ( _come_ and _hard_ )! This is only getting worse and worse...] 

To Blair's great relief, Jim appeared to miss the double-meanings and just chuckled as he put the mugs down on the counter. 

[Boy, he's got a great ass], thought Blair as Jim turned to pour the coffee. [That's it. I am so outta here.] 

Blair smacked the unread newspaper down on the counter top and announced, "Shit - I forgot. I gotta stand in for one of the TA's this morning and I have a ton of stuff to look over. No time for breakfast. Gotta run." 

He grabbed his mug of coffee, dumped in some sugar and sped toward the door. "See ya," he said as he picked up his backpack and grabbed his keys from the basket, prepared to make a quick but nonchalant exit. 

"Hey, don't forget this afternoon," Jim called. 

Blair halted in the doorway. He really didn't want to turn around to look at Jim in _that_ towel but felt it would be even worse if he didn't. He darted a look over his shoulder. "What?" he asked tensely. 

"We have that meeting at 4 p.m., remember?" Jim responded, and walked toward Blair. 

"What meeting?" Blair thought frantically. [If he gets any closer I'm gonna either laugh hysterically or find something equally embarrassing to do...] 

"Oh, yeah, I remember. Right. See you then." Blair sped out the door and down the hallway. [This was just way too weird], he thought on the way to his car. 

Jim slowly shook his head as he shut the door behind Sandburg. [What was with the guy this morning?] 

* * *

Blair's day was like any other, except at odd moments he kept flashing back on his dream. [That damn dream! I really have to get this silliness under control. And that's what it was, right? Just silliness. Yes.] 

[But my body doesn't think it's just silliness. What happened when I was thinking of Dan this morning seems to prove that. Am I gay? (Not that there's anything _wrong_ with it...) No way; I don't get the same thrill thinking about men as I do about women. Or, at least, I didn't until now. Shit. One experience ( _series_ of experiences) when I'm in high school and an erotic dream now, and I'm questioning my sexuality? Geez, am I that far in denial? Don't go there. Don't go there. Don't go there.] 

[Can you be a homosexual (or bisexual - somehow, changing it to bisexual makes it seem a bit better) if you aren't attracted to men in general but _man in particular_? Nice grammar, Sandburg. But you know what I mean. Yes, we know what you mean. And we think you're dancing around the issue. Are you attracted to Jim?] 

[Well, I had an incredibly hot dream about him. Doesn't that count? Not necessarily. Right?] 

Blair sighed. These little conversations in his head could be amusing (and even useful), but sometimes they were just annoying. 

[So, are you attracted to Jim? Or, to put it more explicitly, do you want to have a sexual encounter with him on the kitchen floor?] he asked himself. [Damn!] 

[Well, that's what we're talking about here, isn't it? Yes, it is. We're talking about running your hands up and down that sculpted chest, sliding your body against his, feeling his hard cock against you...] Blair squirmed in his seat. 

[Enough! In this state, almost anything is arousing. It doesn't prove anything. Maybe what I need is just some time. Time to let all this work itself out. Yeah, that is it. Just ride this through...and _don't_ keep obsessing about how intense it all was.] 

But he looked so appealing in that towel, standing in the same spot from the dream... 

"Earth to Sandburg, Earth to Sandburg, come in, Sandburg." 

Blair dimly heard his name and came back to his surroundings. 

"See any aliens out there?" his classmate, Sarah, asked. 

"Gee, that was funny in about 3rd grade," Blair responded with a smile. 

"Seriously, though, Blair. What _were_ you thinking about? You looked positively _dreamy_ ," she rolled her eyes in mock-1950's sorority-girl appreciation. 

"Oh, nothing much. Just thinking about an exhibit," he said. 

"You mean the one on comparative sexual practices - the one that's being picketed?" Sarah said with a sly smile and raised eyebrows. 

Blair had the decency to blush - he'd forgotten that. "Uh, yeah. That's right." 

"Well, it is probably more interesting than today's lunch. I knew we should have hit the vendors," she said. "Wanna go check it out?" 

"Sure. I always like a bit of insurrection after lunch," Blair said. [Maybe it'll keep my mind off IT. Yeah, right. Like going to an exhibit about sex is going to quash my erotic fantasies. At least I won't have to see Jim - not until 4 p.m., that is.] 

* * *

At three-thirty Blair found himself seriously considering ditching the meeting. [I acted like a fool this morning. How embarrassing. Can't I even be around Jim without thinking about him in that way? It's not like I even need to be at this meeting, anyway - what do I need to know about policy changes? I'm only an observer. But if I don't show up, Jim will just hassle me, and Simon won't take it well. No, I've got to go, and I'll just have to get my hormones to behave. This can't go on much longer, can it?] 

He resigned himself to fate and headed toward the meeting. He was just barely on time when he finally found the room. It was hot and crowded - filled with cops and support personnel who would rather be somewhere else. Jim was sitting on the far side but caught Blair's attention and pointed rather severely at the empty seat next to him. Blair could almost hear the "Get your butt over here now, Sandburg!" dictated by his eyes. 

Blair worked his way over and plopped down in the seat just as the talk started. The speaker wasn't very good and the topic was, to put it kindly, boring. Blair's attention soon wandered. He became acutely aware of Jim's long thigh pressing against his in the crowded room. [Damn, it is hot. Or is it just me?] Blair shifted in his seat. [Whatever. _I_ am hot, anyway. I should have brought water.] He shifted again, trying to keep away from Jim. [The man is just so damn big (no, not _that_ way), and he sometimes seems to have no sense of people's personal space.] Not that Blair normally cared, but this was getting intolerable. 

He started bouncing his leg up and down to distract himself. Jim looked at him in annoyance and Blair gave an apologetic shrug and stopped. Sweat trickled down his neck underneath his hair. He started looking at the other people in the room but found himself mentally pairing up the room. [ _That_ is certainly no good], he thought, when he discovered that all his pairings weren't m/f. He shifted again. [Damn, can Jim feel the heat radiating through my jeans?]. Jim gave him another annoyed glance. [I guess going to that exhibit wasn't such a great idea. But when I was there with Sarah, I was perfectly fine. Not anymore.] Blair wickedly imagined Jim's startled response if he were to suddenly run his hand up along that meaty thigh, zeroing in on... 

[Shit. I'm doing it again.] He sat up straight and tried to focus. [What is this moron jabbering on about? He doesn't know how to use a chalkboard at all. How long was this stupid thing supposed to last, anyway?] It seemed interminable. 

Blair's glance fell down to his feet. Then he checked out Jim's feet. [Always thought he had attractive feet - well-balanced with the rest of him. Relatively wide and masculine but they don't overwhelm his ankles or calves. And the fuzzy blond hair of the latter is kinda cute - more like a texture than a color. Yep, definitely nice calves.] Jim's khaki's tightened slightly over their bulk and Blair recalled that Jim's tightest jeans were bleached-out on the back of his legs because of it. [Tightest jeans? Lord, I'm doing it again. Just don't squirm this time, OK?] 

[Maybe if I wrote all this down it would leave me alone. Yeah, that's right. Write it all out. Get it out of my system, for once and for all. And burn it when I'm done.] 

He started rummaging through his backpack for a notebook and a pen. After successfully extracting them he returned Jim's tight-lipped glance, resisting the impulse to stick out his tongue. He tucked his hair behind his ears and bent his head to his task. 

* * *

Jim was bored. No, he was beyond bored. [My ass is beginning to go numb - why can't they make these chairs comfortable for tall people?] He could only put his legs in one place and his lower back was beginning to complain about it. [Not to mention that my shirt is sticking to me. And why can't Sandburg sit still? He keeps bumping into me every time he moves. How long was this thing supposed to last?] 

Finally, Blair settled down. He seemed to be avidly taking notes - until Jim realized that he was working far too steadily to be paying any attention to the speaker. Jim stretched a bit to relieve his back [no, really!] and managed to get a better look at what Blair was writing. 

[Definitely not taking notes - it looks like a single long paragraph.] He tried to ignore it, but found his curiosity was aroused. He shifted again, trying to get a closer look. [Blair's handwriting can be so difficult. Is he writing a letter? No, there was no greeting or date. What is it, then?] 

Jim knew he wasn't going to be able to read it, but speculating about what Blair was engaged in was far more interesting that anything else that presented itself. [Writing secret memoirs? Plotting to kill the speaker?] That almost caused Jim to laugh out loud. [If only...] He sighed. Then he did something he tried not to do too often - it could so easily backfire if he discovered things he shouldn't; he opened up his Sentinel senses to the room. 

The heat in the room made smell an unreasonable choice, but he couldn't help being assaulted by the assortment of smells that accompanied Blair. After all, it was hot in here, and Blair was sitting next to him. He tried to figure out what Blair had for lunch. [Something with tomato and garlic] he thought. [Blair is still using the same shampoo, soap, deodorant, shaving soap, laundry detergent and...what is that faint smell? It seems familiar somehow - a spice?] 

He wasn't too good with spices since he didn't cook all that often. It was definitely something familiar. And it was pleasant in a strange sort of way - pungent but not unappealing. He let himself focus on it, carefully avoiding a zone-out. 

[Damn, what is it?] Sentinel senses were one thing, but sensing something is a lot easier than naming it. Sometimes the training with Blair was more like memorizing high school vocabulary terms. At first the meaning is flat, dependent upon the stilted language of the definition. But as the word becomes familiar, its dictionary definition fades and its meaning becomes second nature. He tried not to get frustrated. [What did Blair say? 'Don't underestimate the cognitive requirements of Sentinel abilities.' Just work slowly through the analysis... No luck. Time to move on.] 

He opened up his hearing next. Blanking out the speaker was easy. That left the other continuous noises in the room - the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the hum of the fan in the overhead projector, the cycling of the environmental controls. [Is that a coffee maker gurgling somewhere?] The intermittent noises of the audience were harder to filter because they were random, but he and Blair had been working on this. 

Blair said it was only a matter of selecting the proper "frequency", and then these noises would fade as well. Jim concentrated on this task. [Might as well get _something_ out of this waste of time]. It was difficult. Something kept breaking his concentration. There was a regular noise that kept floating in on top of the general buzz of the people in the room. [What is it?] Jim let himself relax even more and suddenly he had it. [It's Blair.] 

Blair was around Jim so much that filtering Blair's presence had become second nature, but Blair was breathing a little too rapidly for the filtering to work. His pulse rate was elevated, too. 

[What is going on? Is he getting overheated in this stuffy room?] Jim looked at Blair with concern. [He doesn't _look_ like he's in any danger - and it isn't that hot, is it?] No, Blair seemed utterly focused on filling up that entire book with his precise, if cryptic, handwriting. 

[Ah, maybe that's it. Just what _is_ Blair writing in that notebook?] He couldn't resist trying to get another look at what had Blair so involved. 

Suddenly Blair straightened and started to flip to a fresh page. He caught Jim in full peek mode and gave him a disapproving glance, slapping the cover of the notebook shut in reply. Jim guiltily turned his gaze back to the front of the room where the speaker seemed to be trying to wrap things up. [Let's just hope there are no questions...] 

* * *

Blair made it back to the loft before Jim. [At least I got something done. Maybe I'll finish it now, before Jim comes home and expects us to cook dinner together. Dinner! In the kitchen!] 

Blair sat down at the kitchen table and picked up where he had stopped. Writing this out was surprisingly difficult because he knew that he had to describe how he felt; he couldn't just write out the choreography and expect to be cleansed of this experience. [No, I've got to get down into my reactions and expose them on the page. For such a simple dream, it's taking a lot words. Maybe I should have done this on the computer? It would be faster. But then I'd have to print it out in order to burn it, and that doesn't seem right.] So he kept writing. 

He had finished describing the dream during the meeting and now moved on to his own response; thoughts and feelings flowed out in a rambling narrative. It wasn't meant to be read - Blair hoped the actual act of writing the words would allow him to organize and process this whole experience. He tried to write down everything that came to mind without censoring it, and the familiarity of the action began to calm him. He worked steadily for a few pages, then gradually ran out of words. 

After staring at the blank page for a while, Blair finally admitted that he was going in circles. He'd covered everything he could think of and was now just re-hashing it all, making himself more and more frustrated. 

"What the hell is wrong with me?" he said aloud. "Why is this such a big deal? I just need to get over it and - " 

He broke off when he heard Jim at the door. 

"Hi," he said, to forestall any question Jim may have been about to ask. 

"Hi," Jim returned. "What's for dinner?" 

[How predictable] Blair thought. [Dinner, kitchen...] His eyes flicked down to the kitchen floor. 

"Uh, I dunno. Want to go out?" Blair suggested, trying to sound casual. 

"Not really. I'm beat after sitting in that endless meeting," Jim said. "How about something quick?" 

[Quick. OK. I can do that. And no jokes about 'quickies', either] Blair thought. Aloud, he said, "Fine." 

"Spaghetti? I think we have some leftover sauce in the freezer," Jim said. 

"No, I had lasagna for lunch. Bad lasagna - _cafeteria_ lasagna - but lasagna nonetheless," Blair said. "How about something vaguely Chinese?" 

"Aw, but then we've gotta cut everything up," Jim complained. 

"Deal with it, Big Guy," was Blair's response as he stood, closing the notebook and casually moving it out of the way. "Let's see what we've got in the fridge. Start some rice, will you?" 

They worked in a familiar routine, preparing dinner and sharing their day with each other. [With certain things left out]. But all in all it seemed to be going OK - better than breakfast, certainly. And he avoided thinking too much about the kitchen floor. Or thin towels. 

[I don't know what is going on with me. Things were going so well. Does Jim know? Know what? _I_ don't even know.] He chopped the vegetables vindictively. [How can a single, stupid dream change everything? Why me?] 

Blair gave a small melodramatic sigh and then laughed at himself for doing so. Things would be OK. [Jim is my friend. I trust him. Even if I screw up, he won't ditch me. Not like I ditched Dan, anyway.] He felt a twinge of pain at that last, unbidden, thought. 

Blair realized that Jim had stopped talking and was looking at him with concern and irritation. [Damn. What was Jim talking about? I've been standing here doing my own "zone out"...] 

"Sorry, Jim," he apologized. "Mea culpa." 

"Yeah. You didn't hear a word I said," Jim said. 

"No, not really," Blair admitted. "You know, absent-minded professor syndrome. What were you talking about?" 

Jim gave him a brief but searching look and then reverted to his normal demeanor, picking up the conversation where he had left off. 

This time, Blair forced himself to pay attention. _This_ was what he feared most: losing the casual, but still somehow intimate, familiarity. [Maybe I'm a fool for even thinking about changing this relationship.] He looked over at Jim, who had now begun to clear the table. [I don't want to risk anything.] 

Blair turned back to the stove to begin the final assembly of their meal. This last bit was tricky - the timing had to be right or it wouldn't turn out well. It demanded his attention. 

"Shit, I forgot the cornstarch. Could you get it for me, please?" Blair asked. "Mix it with some water like I showed you." 

When he got no response, Blair looked over and saw Jim standing at the table, reading the notebook. He saw Jim's eyes widen in surprise - or shock? 

"Jim. Stop." Blair's anger came through in his voice. Jim looked up at Blair. "I mean it. Stop reading it right now." 

[Or you'll regret it and so will I.] 

Guilt flashed across Jim's face and he fumbled for words, "I...um...I just wanted..." 

"You just wanted to read something that is _private_ ," Blair countered. 

[And just why did I leave it out to be read? Maybe some part of me wants him to read it? Ouch.] 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have," Jim apologized, shutting the notebook and offering it to Blair. "But what the hell is it?" 

"Nothing," Blair said, as he took the notebook and forgot about the critical timing of the meal. "Sort of a therapy technique." 

"Oh. Sure," Jim said, uncertainly. "Is everything OK? I mean, you were acting kinda weird today at breakfast and now this. You aren't mad at me or something, are you?" 

"No, Jim," Blair said. "No, I'm not mad." 

[Crazy, psychopathic, irrational, horny - but not mad. Definitely not mad. In fact, you might say the opposite of mad. You might very well say that; I couldn't possibly comment. Geez, now I'm channeling Francis Urquhart. Pretty soon I'll be wanting to "put a bit of stick about".] He snorted with laughter at the double-entendre. 

Jim looked at him as if he were crazy. 

"Nothing, Jim," Blair said. "Look, maybe I'm just tired. I didn't sleep well last night." 

[Yeah, right. It was a _really_ rough night.] 

Jim gave him a slight frown and then shrugged and turned back to setting the table. 

Blair felt enormously relieved - the last thing he needed to deal with was Jim's overprotective nature when he was still so messed up himself. He didn't want to tell Jim. [Not through a childish maneuver like that, anyway.] 

Blair hurried to his room, threw the notebook on his bed, and headed back to the kitchen to salvage their dinner. 

He had planned to burn those pages, hadn't he? [No, I can't just ignore this whole thing. I'll work through it and things will go back to normal.] 

He sneaked a glance at Jim and couldn't help noticing the grace of his movements. [Well, maybe not _normal_ ] he thought. 

Later, as he prepared for bed, he cast a guilty glance at the disorganized pile on his "bookshelf" - or, what Jim called a corner of the room. He had ripped out the offending pages, folded them in half, and stuffed them in Public Perceptions and Private Realities: Essays on the Power Structures of Single-Sex Male Communities. 

The thick book was on indefinite loan to him from the (thankfully) very lax Rainier University Library. 

He kept planning to read it but never did. 

Finis. 

Notes: 

Francis Urquhart is a character in a trio of BBC productions (House of Cards, To Play the King, The Final Cut) based on the books by Michael Dobbs. The stories are considered dark comedy or satire. FU, as he's known, is a British politician who is playing for big stakes. In the first production, House of Cards, he takes a fledgling reporter under his wing in order to manipulate the press. She becomes his protege, so to speak, and he teaches her about politics and feeds her inside information. Often, he leads her to a conclusion and when she finally gets his unspoken message and asks him point blank, he slyly responds, "You might very well think that. I couldn't possibly comment." Meaning, of course, that she is absolutely correct but he won't go on record. It becomes a sort of catch-phrase between them. Another memorable quote is "put a bit of stick about". Basically, it means that he's going to whip people/things into shape by flexing his political muscle. If you haven't seen these movies and you like wicked satire, I strongly urge you to run down to your local video store. They were recently shown on PBS in the US but have since been released on video. They are worth tracking down. 

The Seinfeld episode probably doesn't need much explanation, but I suppose I should point out that the phrase "Not that there's anything wrong with that" is a running joke throughout the episode. When Jerry and George are mistakenly thought to be in a relationship together, every time they talk about it they qualify their statements with that phrase. 


End file.
